Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Terrier Tuesday - A Trip Down Memory Lane Edition

Dear Readers:

The lazy blogger will, every once in a while, republish an old post and be done with it. Alpha and I had forgotten this ever happened, and when we saw it show up on the "You Might Like This" link below yesterday's post, it gave us much joy. We thought you might like to read it -- for the first time or the second time -- too. I love my mommy in her very English (dare I say "Yorkshire") newsboy-looking hat and coat, don't you? She's dressed perfectly for walking a Yorkie in Midtown Manhattan, don't you think?

First Published Saturday, December 27, 2008

361. Yelp! I've Been Kidnapped by the Yorkshire Terrierist!

With 20 minutes to spare yesterday, the spontaneous -- some might say impetuous -- action was taken to purchase a JetBlue ticket (the last seat on the plane!), pack a bag, shower (in that order) and speed to the airport to accompany Abigail and Mr. Jefferies back home to New York. OR it could be that I have been kidnapped. By the most terrierful terrier of all. He demands steak and kidney pie and Yorkshire pudding, and perhaps I will be released to go back home on Monday.

Meanwhile, Abigail and I are having a fun mother-daughter weekend, and Mr. Jefferies is busy setting about to charm the pants off everybody he meets. Our seatmate on the way down was a Cuban American who was heading home to L.A. after his dream trip to Vermont to experience his first white Christmas (we Vermonters very kindly obliged). He is a huge dog lover, and when we took the two seats next to him, he gave a huge thumbs up. He said he had seen Mr. Jefferies in the airport and missed his dogs, but he had also seen many families with -- and he delivered this line the same way I might -- with [shudder] kids. He was assuming and dreading that -- horror or horrors -- that some of those [gack] kids would be seated next to him. Instead he got the pleasure of our company and Mr. Jefferies'.

When we got to New York, Abigail and I took Mr. Jefferies for a walk to the dog park. That dog continues to amaze me. He's such a smart little son-of-a-gun. He's only six months old, and he is already seemingly well seasoned as a little walker -- not intimidated by people or big vehicles or loud noises, walks along like a little pro, knows to stop at curbs and take cues for starting up again at the white walk light. He knows his street and likes to sprint the final two blocks, knows his building, and when let off the elevator, he knows exactly which door is his. Sharp as a little whip.

Santa brought him a new red sweater, and he wore it on the walk. With that sweater on, he brings coos and smiles from almost every New Yorker we meet.

The guy has quite a lot of power and quite a lot of clout. I'm actually not sure steak and kidney pie and Yorkshire pudding will be enough.

Mr. Jefferies in his native environment:

After we exhausted the little guy, Abigail and I set about to exhaust ourselves. We went to the gym, then out to dinner, then ended the day with a trip to the top of the Empire State Building. It's right in her neighborhood, and it's a shame that we've only just walked past it. Last night was THE perfect night for going to the top -- the crowds were low, and the temperature was brisk but not terribly freezing. The city-lights-studded clear view was just wonderful, the skaters at Rockefeller Center looked like swarming fleas, and though it had started to rain on the street level, it was spitting snow at the top, which added a magical quality to it. I was only pissed off by people once -- when a group of beautiful Italians were afraid to go through the revolving door and held me up from getting through myself. (Pretty good for me -- only pissed off at people once? Excellent. More proof that my therapy worked -- or not.)